


Command and Control

by bauble



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Life-threatening situations turn Eames on. Literally.Written for Inception Reverse Bang, inspired by the beautiful art of Motetus.





	Command and Control

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Escape from Toledo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491207) by [motetus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/motetus/pseuds/motetus). 



The job is going according to plan, except for the three cars chasing them.

"We need to drop this vehicle and switch to the backup," Eames says, peering back over his shoulder.

"Yes," Arthur says through gritted teeth, fingers tight around the wheel. "Tell me how to shake these guys and I'll get right on that."

There's the sound of metal striking metal, roughly bullet shaped. Now the fuckers are shooting at them.

"I can't fire from this angle," Eames says. He's got a gun in his hand, sits twisted around in the passenger seat. "They haven't shot out the back windshield yet."

"Time to go really fast then." Arthur slams on the accelerator. Tires screech as he whips around a few hairpin turns, the smell of burnt rubber wafting through the air. Thank god he took the time to study the local roads before the job; this shit is why he hates being the getaway driver.

Two of the cars can't keep up. One skids off the road and another slams into a telephone pole. 

The last remains in tight pursuit. Arthur adjusts his grip on the wheel, palms sweaty.

"Only one left," Eames says, voice oddly breathy as he puts a hand on Arthur's thigh. "You're amazing."

Arthur risks a glance over to confirm the bulge in Eames' pants. "What the fuck?" Arthur says as Eames' fingers creep up Arthur's inner thighs. "This is not a dream. If we slam into a tree, we don't wake up."

"I have complete faith in you," Eames replies in what Arthur can only describe as his sex voice. "Will you let me put my lips on your cock? I want—"

"We're ten seconds and a hand-cramp away from death, you lunatic," Arthur wants to shout. He doesn't, because he has to focus on surviving this goddamn firefight. "Stop touching me and stop talking," is what he says instead. He feels the fingers lift a moment later.

Arthur glances at the car into the rearview mirror and prays there's enough distance to execute the maneuver he has in mind.

* * * * *

**SIX MONTHS PRIOR**

Arthur and Eames have sex for the first time after a successful extraction. It catches Arthur off guard, because they'd been dating for a month already and done nothing more than a little light groping (with clothes on). 

Despite Eames' propensity for flirting shamelessly with men, women, and inanimate objects, it turns out that he takes dating quite seriously. And, as a result, takes sex quite seriously (see: slowly).

The dating began with a post-inception round of celebratory drinks Arthur had been fairly certain would lead to passionate, high-on-victory fucking. Arthur's plan to get rip-roaring drunk was replaced with a glass of fine whiskey and Eames' gentle flirtation, interspersed with sincere interest and questions about Arthur's childhood. 

Arthur had been so surprised by the way the night was going that he lowered his guard and answered Eames' questions, even going so far as to talk about his relationship with his mother. The real one, and not the one he made up for an alias. 

At the end of the evening, Eames offered to walk Arthur back to his hotel, which Arthur took as code for sex at his place. Eames had escorted Arthur to his room, thanked him for the lovely evening, and kissed him in a gentlemanly manner before walking off. Leaving Arthur confused and horny in the doorway of his hotel room.

The following three dates proceeded in a similar fashion, with Eames seeing Arthur off at the end of the night with no more than a kiss. Arthur started with suggestive hints, escalated to blatant invitations, and ended with a frank, "Are you not into sex or something? Because I definitely am."

"I am most certainly into sex," Eames said, low and smoky with promise. "I can't wait to tear all your clothes off when the time is right."

Arthur's brain stopped processing words after 'tear all your clothes off.' The conversation ended in an epic make-out session the likes of which he hasn't enjoyed since he was fifteen. It was only after Eames left in a haze of, "Darling, I'm afraid I'm rather mad about you," and, "Dinner next week then?" that Arthur realized he still had no idea when the actual fucking would commence.

The following day Arthur and Eames worked a job together (something small and low key, arranged before they began dating). They finished the extraction successfully despite encountering some gunfire from hostile projections towards the end, wiped down the dentist's office, and split up.

At least, they were supposed to be splitting up. Eames, in a breach of protocol, grabbed Arthur by the hand once they cleared the building and drove back to the hotel. 

He dragged Arthur to the public restroom, jammed the lock, and got down on his knees. Arthur's fly was open before he even knew what was happening, Eames sucking him to full hardness.

"Um," Arthur said, eloquently, mesmerized by the sight of Eames' lips wrapped around his cock. Reality somehow surpassed the numerous fantasies that'd been circulating in Arthur's mind of late. He came in an astonishingly short amount of time, barely remembering to warn Eames before he did.

Eames seemed not at all perturbed, swallowing Arthur down before standing.

"Wow," Arthur said, dazed. He kissed Eames, and the notion of reciprocation occurred to him. "Would you like me to…?"

"No need." Eames guided Arthur's fingers down to the damp spot in the front of Eames' pants. It should have felt gross, but the fact that Eames came in his pants just from blowing Arthur was probably one of the hottest things he'd ever experienced. Fuck.

They made their way upstairs eventually, to have more sex. Glorious, messy, frequent sex with breaks for food and talking and sleeping. Arthur meant to ask Eames 'why now?' but got sidetracked by the luscious curve of Eames' ass. And then, later, by the way Eames smiled when they ate breakfast in bed.

* * * * *

**TWO MONTHS PRIOR**  
They continue to work occasional jobs together. During their jobs apart, they stay in contact via phone calls and Skype, talking about their days and having virtual sex. Arthur finds himself looking forward to the chats, to seeing Eames, to being with him again physically—and not purely for sexual reasons.

Eames doesn’t do casual, it seems. Arthur is surprised to discover that he doesn't mind a bit of serious when it comes to Eames.

They keep a low profile in the dreamshare community, strictly professional in front of colleagues. Most jobs are easy: simple extractions or lucrative militarization trainings. It isn't until they're running an extraction set on a dude ranch that Arthur see—well, another side of Eames.

Everything was going fine. That is, until the mark revealed a secret and violent hatred for clowns. A hatred that manifested in angry projections chasing them outside of the house and into the fields.

"How much time do you need?" Arthur asks over the radio as he hops a fence. He risks a glance over his shoulder to assess the mob of adults and children in party hats.

"Ten minutes," Zhu crackles back. "I'm inside the house, making my way to the cellar."

Eames sheds his ill-fated clown forgery as he runs beside Arthur. Says, "We can give you five."

Arthur wheels around to shoot blindly into the crowd behind them. It drops a few projections, but nowhere near enough. "We'll lure them away and distract as long as we can, but you gotta hurry."

Eames hurls a grenade behind them. "I don't know how much longer I can keep going like this."

Arthur takes Eames' point—he's beginning to feel the first twinges of exhaustion across his body, from his overheated chest to his dry mouth. Arthur scans the horizon in front of them—mostly flat, barren pasture—and spots a lone horse grazing near the stable. It's some ways away, but could provide the perfect opportunity to put some distance between them and the projections.

"Can you ride a horse?" Arthur asks.

"Yes."

"Awesome." Arthur takes a deep gulp of air and forces himself to continue. "I'll get on and swing you up behind me. Cover me while I do."

"Roger that." 

They skid to a halt beside the dappled grey horse. It skitters back a few feet, nostrils flaring.

"Whoa there," Arthur says, holding out a hand to calm it. "Everything's alright."

"I'm inside the cellar, almost to the safe," Zhu announces through their receivers and Eames groans.

"It'll take her at least another five minutes to crack it and retrieve the information," Eames says, shooting several projections as Arthur scrambles onto the horse.

Arthur offers Eames a hand up. "Then let's ride as far and fast as we can."

Eames swings behind Arthur, the horse neighing nervously. It doesn't try to throw them off, however, and Arthur urges it into motion.

They move into a smooth canter, the horse straining only slightly at their combined weight. The projections can't keep up and Arthur is about to breathe a sigh of relief when the unmistakable sound of a shotgun shell whizzes past his ear.

"What the hell was that?" Eames shouts into Arthur's ear, arms tightening around his waist.

"Some of them are armed now," Arthur shouts back, beginning to ride in a zigzag pattern. There's no cover to be found, flat farmland in every direction. This was supposed to be a routine extraction, the mark a laid-back middle manager who happened to be the unwitting possessor of some valuable information. Easy.

Arthur frowns as he guides the horse. Something's strange, but it takes him a moment to sort through all the stimuli to identify what's off. There's a curious lack of gunfire in his ears, which means Eames isn't turning to shoot at the projections as they ride. And he can feel something firm pressed up against his ass—something that's definitely not part of the horse. 

A moment later, there's a drift of sensation against his own groin—Eames' right hand is grazing lower, fingers rubbing a place that seems completely inappropriate at this juncture.

"Eames," Arthur says, unsure what to continue with. Is Eames rubbing one out against his ass while buckshot whizzes past them?

"Just a little longer, darling," Eames murmurs as the motion of the horse grinds Eames' hips more firmly against Arthur. "Almost finished."

"This is not the best time," Arthur mutters, mindful that Zhu can hear everything they say through their earpieces.

Eames nuzzles the back of Arthur's neck. "The projections can't reach us on horse-back."

"They can if they're shooting," Arthur says, cock taking a heightened interest in Eames' proximity despite all good sense and reason.

"You're bloody marvelous," Eames whispers, punctuated with a breathy groan that means he's come. On a horse, rubbing one out against Arthur's ass, while projections chase them. Arthur can only hope that if Zhu heard, she thinks Eames has been shot.

"Got it," Zhu says. "I'm outta here, guys. See you topside!"

"Thank god," Arthur mutters. He reaches for a gun, but feels the press of steel against his back and knows that Eames already has it covered.

* * * * *

"Good job holding the projections off," Zhu says as they wipe down the therapist's office. "I'll wire everyone their cut once the exchange is made."

They follow protocol. Split up. 

He and Eames reconvene a few hours later in a hotel room.

"We need to—" Arthur starts as he enters to the room. But words fall away when he's greeted by Eames, completely naked, pressing him back against the door and kissing him senseless.

It's only later when he's fucking Eames over the back of a chair that a wisp of thought about discussing something appears. Then Eames begins to groan lavishly, and the thought dissipates once more.

* * * * *

**TWO DAYS PRIOR**  
"Bad news," Eames says, putting down his cell phone. "My getaway driver appears to have been mauled by a bear."

Arthur laughs reflexively as he skims the weather report online. When Eames is quiet, Arthur looks up. "Wait, seriously?"

"Believe me, I wish it were a joke." Eames is pacing. "The job's less than two days out. I don't know anyone in the immediate area I could call in, which means I'll have to rely on referrals, which will get expensive with a finder's fee attached. Not to mention anyone who is available and competent will likely charge an exorbitant markup for the timing. Bloody hell."

Arthur sits back, trying to think of contacts in the area. Unfortunately, most fail the 'available' or 'competent' tests. "Remini's not too far and could fly in if she's not booked already. Verret's within a three hour driving distance."

"Let's give them a ring."

Both are unavailable. All other names Arthur and Eames generate lead to dead ends. They exhaust their list of even marginally able contacts.

"I'm fucked," Eames says. "It's physically impossible for me to do the job without a second, which means I'm going to have to call in Chartwell."

"Chartwell is an idiot who can barely tie his own shoelaces without help," Arthur says. "He'll get you killed or caught."

"But he's local and guaranteed to be available." Eames stares at his phone, as if reluctant to dial. "I'll do everything myself in order to reduce the odds that he'll botch the job. All he'll need to do is drive—assuming he hasn't forgotten how."

"Screw Chartwell. I'll do it."

"You don't do topside crime anymore."

"I'll make an exception," Arthur says. "It's cheaper than paying for your bail, anyway."

"Are you sure?" Eames settles on the couch next to Arthur, familiar and warm. "I have worked with Chartwell before and lived to speak of it. Narrowly, but it can be done."

Arthur reaches out to smooth the funny tuft of hair sticking up above Eames' ear. Unless Eames gels it down, he can never quite eliminate the cowlicks. "I'm sure."

* * * * *

**PRESENT DAY**  
The job is going according to plan, except for the three cars chasing them. And Eames' inappropriately timed erection.

"We're ten seconds and a hand-cramp away from death, you lunatic," Arthur wants to shout. He doesn't, because he has to focus on surviving this goddamn firefight. "Stop touching me and stop talking," is what he says instead. He feels the fingers lift a moment later.

Arthur glances at the car into the rearview mirror and prays there's enough distance to execute the maneuver he has in mind. 

They're driving along an empty country road, fields and crops on either side of them. Fast approaching is a wooded area, the road winding through a crowded thicket.

Arthur wrenches the wheel to the right, snapping them off the road, spinning the car three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around.

The car behind them doesn't catch on in time. When the driver attempts to replicate the move, there's not enough open space between it and the trees and the car careens into a large fir. There's the sharp clang of metal upon impact. A plume of smoke billows up.

Arthur floors the accelerator once more, the frame of the car trembling as he speeds away.

"That was incredible." Eames sounds awed. Aroused.

"Thanks," Arthur says, voice shakier than he'd like. "When we get out of this, we're going to fuck, and then we're going to talk about what the hell you tried to pull back there."

* * * * *

"I don't know what to tell you. I'm fucked in the head," Eames says later, when they're lying in a hotel bed, sweaty and exhausted. "You know I'm not—I can control myself, most of the time. Except in certain situations with you, apparently."

"Situations of unspeakable danger?" Arthur replies, exasperated. "Situations where I need full concentration on the tasks related to keeping us alive and getting the job done?"

"I know." Eames groans and covers his face in his hands. "This doesn't happen when I'm the one responsible for ensuring our safety, only when it's you. And it's never happened with anyone else before."

"You've never had this happen with another colleague?"

"No, Arthur, I swear." Eames rolls over to face him, eyes huge. "I've never worked with anyone I've dated before."

"It's not like I'd be upset if you had a one night stand," Arthur says, smiling faintly.

"I don't do that," Eames says, and given their history, Arthur is inclined to believe him. "I need to know someone and to know they—well, they care."

"I never would have pegged you as such a romantic," Arthur says, fondly.

Eames sidles forward to kiss Arthur on the nose. "You won't hold it against me, I hope?"

"No, but—" Arthur sighs as he touches Eames' hip. "Babe, what are we going to do about this?"

Eames presses closer to Arthur's side. "I don't know."

* * * * *

  


Arthur shifts on his motorcycle and waits. Overhead, the unrelenting sun beats down, only slight respite found in the shade.

The doors of the Toledo Cathedral fly open and a familiar figure emerges, arms wrapped around an enormous cross. Arthur turns the ignition and goes to meet Eames.

"You know I’m not always going to be around to save you like this, don't you?" Arthur asks as Eames climbs on behind him. He's hot, he's sweaty, and Eames is late.

"I don't believe anyone's been saved yet," Eames replies, gesturing to the angry people streaming out of the church behind them.

"You had to do this in broad daylight."

"It's when security is weakest, ironically enough," Eames replies as they take off. "In the evening the place is a bloody fortress."

"I still don't understand why you need this thing." 

"I've been saving up to pay for another of your bespoke suits." Eames nuzzles the back of Arthur's neck. "I found a beautiful fabric I think will look marvelous with your complexion."

Arthur tries to suppress his smile, but can't quite manage it. Eames always insists on being charming, even when it's not called for. "You know I have plenty of suits already."

Eames squeezes Arthur's sides gently. "I know, but I can't wait to see you in this one."

And then a police car roars up behind them, sirens wailing.

Arthur snakes a turn into an alley—too narrow for the car behind to follow—and winces as they bounce over ancient cobblestones. The alley releases them back into a street that leads out of the city, onto winding mountain roads.

"Fuck," Arthur mutters as the wide, well-paved roads turn into twisty paths with meager guard rails—the only things separating them from a long, painful descent down the mountainside. He's forced to lose some speed and glances back over his shoulder to check for tails.

"They're gone," Eames murmurs into Arthur's ear as he grinds not at all subtly against Arthur's ass.

Arthur abruptly pulls over to the shoulder of the road and kills the engine. He jumps off the motorcycle, leaving Eames to stumble off after him. "You don't ever stop, do you?"

Eames sets the relic on the ground and stares back at Arthur, unapologetic. "We're not in danger anymore. I don't see the harm."

"Of course we're in danger. That's why you're two seconds from begging to suck my cock," Arthur says, widening his stance when Eames' eyes go to his crotch area. Predictable.

Eames licks his lips. "You think I'd be that easily reduced to begging?"

"I think it's the only way you're going to get what you want." Arthur hooks his thumbs into his pockets. He can wait.

There's a long pause before Eames practically falls onto this knees, face pressed against Arthur's fly. "Please."

"Did I say you could touch?" Arthur asks, forcing himself to take a step back from Eames' questing hands. "Tell me how much you want this."

"I—" Eames puts a hand on his own cock, already erect through his pants. "I want this."

"What do you want?"

"I want your dick in my mouth." Eames swallows and shuffles forward on his knees. "I want you to choke me with your come. I want to come in my trousers, just from sucking you."

"That's—" Arthur clears his throat, voice hoarse. "That's better." He puts two fingers under Eames' chin. "Now, you're going to warm my dick with your mouth. Then I'm going to fuck your ass."

"Yes." Eames stares up at Arthur, eyes wide. 

"Yes, what?" 

"I want to be your cock-warmer. Your willing hole." Eames runs his tongue along the palm of Arthur's leather glove. Arthur takes a steadying breath as he feels his pants grow tighter. "I want your cock inside me, anywhere. However long."

"You get off on being used, don't you?" The answer is obvious in the way Eames licks the entirety of Arthur's gloved hand, sucking on each individual finger. But Arthur still needs to hear it. "How many times are going you to come before you'll want it to stop? Before you're finished?"

"I don't care how many times I come," Eames says, gaze lust-dark. "All I care about is feeling you inside me. Using me."

Arthur opens his fly, marking the way Eames' lips part. "No hands."

Eames presses his face against Arthur's cock immediately, rubbing his forehead and lips and cheek against it. Eames breathes heavily, dipping down to nose at Arthur's balls, his perineum. He eventually returns to licking at the head, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue flickers in and out. It feels—incredible.

"That's enough teasing," Arthur says, touching the back of Eames' neck meaningfully. Eames goes willingly—eagerly—and sucks the head of Arthur's dick into his mouth, lapping at the tip. Eames moans as Arthur hardens, mouth stretching wider to accommodate the girth. 

"Shameless," Arthur murmurs as he watches Eames bob and suck blissfully. It's intoxicating, how much Eames wants it, and Arthur feels his orgasm coming on quickly. Too quickly.

Arthur reluctantly detaches himself from Eames' mouth. Eames whimpers and tries to follow. "But—"

"Stop being greedy. You can come on my cock when I—" Arthur halts, pushes Eames back slightly. "You've already come, haven't you?"

Eames looks up at Arthur with hazy eyes and nods. There's a wet patch staining the front of Eames' pants, spreading.

"You always get off sucking cock. Fuck," Arthur says, unable to resist giving his own cock a few jerks. "What do you want?"

Eames looks up at Arthur, glassy and mesmerized. "For you to come on me."

"You want this on your face?" Arthur says, slightly unsure. He wants to stop, to return to what he'd said he'd do, but the idea of splattering Eames with his come is almost unbearably hot. He's so close.

Eames turns his face up. "Yes, do it."

Arthur moans as he climaxes, keeps his eyes open, watches the come splash across Eames' cheeks, lips, and chin. It's gorgeous.

Before Arthur is completely finished, Eames ducks in to catch the last dribbles with his tongue. Arthur sighs as Eames bathes his dick gently—he's oversensitive but it still feels good.

"You've made me come." Arthur gestures for Eames to stand. "Now how will I fuck you?"

Eames wraps his arms around Arthur's waist and kisses him, mouth hungry and demanding, no longer pliable and docile. Arthur can't help but kiss back, losing himself in it until he hears the faraway sound of a car, driving over the mountain road.

"They're still chasing us," Arthurs says, breaking the kiss to peer into the distance. He can't see anything, which means they have a little time. "I bet that's made you hard again."

It has indeed, and Arthur pushes Eames' hand impatiently out of the way as he undoes Eames' fly. "I want you to bend over the back of that motorcycle with your pants down and your legs spread," Arthur says. "Can you do that?"

"Are you going to fuck me?" Eames asks, kissing along Arthur's jaw.

"Greedy for it, aren't you?" Arthur grabs Eames' ass, pinches hard enough to make Eames groan. "You want it?"

"Yes." Eames ruts up against Arthur's hip, cock smearing precome all over. "I want you to come inside me—"

"I told you to turn around and bend over," Arthur says, pushing Eames back a half-step. "Do it, before I lose interest and leave you here for the people chasing us to find. Bare-assed and jerking off, imagining my cock. Gagging for it."

Eames finally complies, draping himself over the back of the motorcycle like a work of art. Arthur gives his ass a sound smack and is rewarded with Eames' shocked moan.

"Think of all the people you pissed off today, stealing that relic," Arthur says, pouring lube generously. He could stare at Eames in this position for hours. "They could be here any second and what would they find? You with your pants down and ass in the air. What would they think if they saw you like? Legs spread and desperate?"

"Fuck, Arthur," Eames says, hips working restlessly. "Please, I need it. I need—"

Arthur drizzles lube over Eames' hole, watches it shiver and contract. "What if I let them do whatever they wanted with you? Let them use your mouth and your ass?"

Eames sighs as Arthur traces his hole, leather squeaking in the lube. 

"Do you feel that?" Arthur asks as he presses in.

"Mm," Eames hums, legs spreading wider. "More."

"You think you call the shots here?" Arthur asks and removes his finger.

"No, no, I—" Eames twists around to stare at Arthur, imploring. "I need it, darling, please. I need it."

"What do you need?"

"You inside me." Eames tilts up his ass, obscene and inviting. "You to fuck me."

"You think you really deserve my cock after everything you've done?" Arthur jams two fingers in swiftly, relishing the way Eames keens. "After how recklessly you've acted."

"I'll make you come so hard. I can ride you, I can suck you, I can—" Eames gasps when Arthur presses against his prostate, back muscles tightening with pleasure. "Don't stop, don't stop, oh—"

"Are you going to come like this?" Arthur wonders aloud, pressing a third finger in, marveling at the dark leather against Eames' tan skin, his pink pucker. "Will this be enough for you? Three fingers? Four fingers? My whole fist?"

"I love it, I bloody—" Eames cuts off with a moan, voice hoarse. "I'm going to come, I am, but I still want—I need your cock—"

Arthur gives Eames' ass another slap and watches his entire body tense, toes curling as he groans through what must be his second or third orgasm by now. Arthur pulls his hand away, lines himself up behind Eames' limp body, and pushes in.

It feels amazing. Velvet hot, tight, and a beautiful sight to behold. It's mesmerizing, seeing his dick shove in and out of Eames' round ass, almost as amazing as every thrust feels. Arthur digs his fingers into Eames' hips to hold him still, fucking with rough jerks that force gasps from Eames' lips.

"So deep," Eames murmurs, breathless. "So good."

"Are you going to come again?" Arthur can barely manage to grit the words out in between thrusts. "Bent over this motorcycle, split open on my cock where anyone can see?"

"Fuck, yes," Eames moans, and clenches down hard.

"I'm going to make you lick up every trace of come you've left on this motorcycle." Arthur kisses Eames' ear, catches the corner of Eames' soft mouth, and forgets what he's about to say. "I…"

"Arthur," Eames murmurs, twisting around to kiss Arthur more fully.

Arthur loses himself in the kiss, cradles Eames' beautiful face, his wild and messy hair. It's usually so carefully combed, restrained, like what Arthur had always imagined Eames to be. But Eames is nothing like what Arthur expected, or expected to want, but here he is, just—

"Arthur," Eames says again, breaking the kiss to bump his nose gently against Arthur's. "We're running out of time."

"Right." Arthur clears his throat and reluctantly pulls away from Eames' lips. "They're—they're right behind us. They'll catch up to us at any minute."

"But you're going to make me take your cock anyway," Eames supplies, voice husky.

"Yeah." Arthur begins to thrust, building up speed because he can hear the roar of motorcycles and car engines less than a mile away, now. "Yeah, I am."

Arthur comes just as the gunshots begin, sparks of pain flaring across his body and mixing with pleasure.

* * * * *

Arthur opens his eyes.

Lying beside him is Eames, breathing deep and slow. Arthur should probably sit up and remove his line. He should.

Eames stirs, tiny movements beneath his eyelids before they open. A smile curls the corner of his mouth. "Hullo."

"Hello," Arthur says, feeling an answering smile on his own face. "Sleep well?"

"I did." Eames brushes his fingertips against Arthur's hand, lying on the coverlet. "And you?"

"I had a sex dream," Arthur begins, watching Eames' face carefully. "It wasn't my usual but I—it was pretty good. I think."

"I had a sex dream as well." Eames tangles his fingers in Arthur's, and brings his other hand around to cup Arthur's cheek. "Quite marvelous."

"Yeah?"

"Multiple orgasms," Eames says as he gently removes the cannula from Arthur's wrist. "Even better than my conscious fantasy, in fact."

"Yeah?" Arthur says, feeling almost shy as Eames presses a kiss to the pinpricks left by the IV.

"Probably a healthier outlet for my dubious urges than groping during inopportune moments," Eames says, tone going dry. "All things considered."

"When I'm not in danger of being killed in the real world or on a job, I don't mind your urges." It's Arthur's turn to kiss the little downward turn of Eames' mouth. "I enjoy them. Even when I'm being shot at."

Eames smiles back, hesitant at first, but then more strongly as Arthur hooks his knee around Eames' calf, tangling their legs together even closer.

fin


End file.
